


Blood Coated Flowers and Unrequited Love

by zirconsnow



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Character Death, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10017311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zirconsnow/pseuds/zirconsnow
Summary: "It started with strange itching in his throat, with waking up with the smell of something foreign in his nose and all the way to the back of his throat."Nothing quite hurts like unrequited love, right? Especially when it's in the shape of flowers and vines that rip and pull at everything inside of you.Kazunari knows now, and he's more than sure he's going to die.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> look at that lazyass title  
> i'm here to bring pain!! please do have a nice time reading this!
> 
> i'm not sure how many there might be but do, beware of spoilers, 
> 
> also tell me if there's any typos or mistakes i miss everyitng and dont proofread ()

It started with strange itching in his throat, with waking up with the smell of something foreign in his nose and all the way to the back of his throat. The first day, Kazunari thought something he had eaten was the cause, and asked Omi to prepare something light to eat with a smile on his face. He took care, made sure to not eat anything strange, asked the director to bring him medicine, and slept early like a good child. Even in bed at the end of the day the feelings and taste hadn’t faded, but he shrugged it off and hoped it’d just be gone by morning. Sickness was sometimes like that after all, wasn’t it? It left while you were sleeping. 

 

But it didn’t leave, and the second day he woke up with very much the same feelings and pain in his chest. He found it weird, but guessed it was probably some sort of cold instead of a stomach sickness, colds came and went without warning after all. He sighed, grabbed his phone to cancel plans, then walked to the kitchen with fast steps. He was relieved to find no one there, then quickly searched around for some sort of medicine he could take. He let out a quiet cheer when he found some pills, swiftly went to get water and swallowed them. He spent the rest of the day normally, telling no one about the discomfort and somehow managing to hide it well. He would get better soon, so no one needed to know, they didn’t need to worry. 

 

The third day was different. He woke up with the now somehow familiar feelings, but they weren’t particularly bad. They were a bother, yeah, but they didn’t seem to be getting worse, so he guessed the pills worked and he’d need to take some again later. He checked his phone, messages, normal routine despite the taste he found similar to grass (which didn’t make much sense) still at the back of his throat. But, the moment an unexpected message lit up his phone screen, his lungs hurt. A sharp pain, like they were being constricted, and the feeling of something crawling up towards his mouth. He swallowed, an impulse reaction to try to push whatever back down and away. “Tsuzurun” was at the middle of his screen, a message his eyes didn’t want to focus on right below it. He felt himself smile at the same time the pain became worse, but he shrugged it off in favour of replying and focusing on the feeling of something flutter in his chest. The message was short, not unusual, it was something about the website, the script, theater, something. Kazunari properly payed attention, yeah, but everything else was nothing next to the opportunity to talk to him (they hadn’t all that much lately, schedules and everything too far away and all over the place to manage to make time to go look for him).

 

It was then, when the thought of having been kinda lonely, when the happiness of talking to him was washing over him, that the itchiness grew tenfold and he started coughing. The something he had tried to swallow down not long ago ripped at his throat, and whatever seemed to be around his lungs made it impossible to breathe. He tried to take deep breaths, left everything at the side and sat down on the floor. Holding it in was impossible, and trying to only made the itchiness and the ripping all the more unbearable, so he stopped, let himself cough as much as his body seemed to need to. His throat hurt, his lungs did too, and with every movement it got worse and worse. Constricting, invading, crawling up his throat, something was there, something was there, wasn’t it. He felt burning at his eyes and throat, kept coughing and forcing until there were tears and sweat and pain and his head felt light and he felt about to faint from lack of air. 

 

With one last cough, something reached his mouth and was spit out together with the taste of blood. ‘Maybe it’s not just a cold’ passed through his aching head as he focused on getting his breath back. Somehow, after whatever had happened it all had calmed down and gone back to how it had been the past two and a half days, with the exception of the tightening around his lungs getting worse, and the taste of blood together with the same foreign smell that had been tormenting him already. It was hard, but eventually he managed to calm himself down, ran a hand through his eyes to wipe tears and whatever else there was there. Though the smell of blood was suffocating and gross, he hadn’t looked at whatever mess there was yet, so he had some hope it wasn’t blood. He had some hope it just felt like so, but it hadn’t been blood, because if it was blood, then this was definitely worse than he thought. 

 

But he had been right from the start, and all hope of it not being blood and being just fine turned to dust when he opened his eyes to look at his hands. From rubbing and being near his mouth, they were red. He felt a chill ran down his spine, a cold didn’t do this, right? A cold didn’t…didn’t….His train of thought stopped when he looked at the floor, at the blood, at the something covered in blood in front of him. He stared in disbelief, tried to come up with some explanation for that and everything which made at least some sense but nothing came, nothing made sense, nothing...explained this…

 

He takes a deep breath, back to the present, reaches a hand out in front of him. His breathing is still ragged, he feels weak, about to collapse, and his head’s spinning. But even so, he takes a couple of flowers in his hand and brings them up to where his eyes can focus on them. They’re pretty, still shining a strong yellow color despite the coating of blood they have. Kazunari takes a deep breath, chokes on it when he feels pain and nausea rise up. He drops the flowers to the floor, feels his eyes burn and tears run down his face before he can even process what’s going on. He feels in a trance, a trance of fear and wonder and many things that crash down on his head and make it spin and hurt. He’s scared, he’s scared of the flowers, of the pain, of the whatever the hell is growing inside of him that makes his chest ache and his throat rip and…

 

He stops when he hears something like a knock on the door, nearly jumps. He tries to reach out to his phone, but it hurts, it’s all spinning and weird and he doesn’t understand what’s going on and he feels awful. He does his best to remember the time, to remember if Muku was getting back soon, to remember who is at the dormitory right now. There’s a knock again, his train of thought breaks, and he does his best to stand up and walk, pushes the flowers and vines and whatever to the side with his foot slowly. He wants to act like normal, smile and reply with something to whoever is outside, tell them to come in and spend some time together. He really wants to, but it’s impossible, impossible because his blood is still there on the floor and on him and his throat is sore and nothing comes out except hoarse sobs. There’s a knock again, and he does his best to rush towards the door before whoever is outside decides to open it. 

  
But he’s too late, too slow despite his best efforts and the door opens before he can do anything. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter because.................writing struggles............oops......

The door opens way faster than Kazunari can even breathe right now, so he doesn’t have time to think about what to say, what to hide or who it might be. He only manages to let out a pitiful noise that tries to be a “no”, legs giving up below him as he collapses to kneel on the floor. The one outside doesn’t move for some seconds, and Kazunari thinks maybe he can come up with some excuse, something that will make things seem okay even if they’re not, that will make whoever is outside just smile and maybe pat his head but nothing more. But he can’t, he can’t because he expects the director or Muku or anyone but somehow he didn’t expect him out of all people to be there, to see him, this, whatever this is. Before he can open his mouth to say something, a familiar but all too quiet voice speaks from the figure at the door. 

“Kazu..?” Misumi’s voice is soft, but not the way it usually is. It’s soft like those times he’s confused and lost, like those times he seems to be in pain over the word “friend” and over everything. Kazunari feels it like a blow, and he does his best to smile despite the pitiful state he’s in.   
“Sumii~” He cuts himself off, name burning his throat and pulling at still raw injuries and cutting his breath. “‘t’s up?” He sounds awful, but he’s trying his best, so he hopes Misumi won’t notice, won’t ask, will smile again so he can somehow pick himself back together and stop being a heaving mess on the floor. 

Misumi’s quiet for a while, and Kazunari’s thankful his eyes are tired and he can’t see anything well because he’s almost sure Misumi’s face looks painful (not any more painful that he looks to Misumi right now, though, he guesses).  
“Kazu... are you okay?” He wants to say yes, wants to say he’s fine, it’s fine, there’s no blood, it’s some art project, something, anything. He wants to, but he can’t, so he stays quiet and nods his head softly. Misumi doesn’t say anything either, just seems to rummage through his pockets before walking towards him with hasty but careful steps.   
“I’m just a lil’ tired!” he tries, looks up at Misumi when he arrives in front of him. Misumi’s frowning, looks worried, he doesn’t like it, he’s sorry. His eyes are blurry but he can tell, can tell even more clearly when Misumi kneels in front of him, and despite his best efforts he’s sure Misumi can see right through him.

“‘m tired, okay? Projects and stuff…” he trails off, swallows (it hurts), wipes his hands on his pants.  
Misumi’s gaze moves from his face to behind him, and he feels his chest turn when Misumi speaks “There’s blood…” His eyes are on the spot Kazunari collapsed on earlier, he knows.  
“Eh..? No that’s…” paint, water, not blood, not blood, something, something.  
Misumi pulls his hand, tries to get him to move, stand up, but Kazunari can’t. He’s tired, he wants to rest. “H- hospital?” said in a rush, scared, he hates it.  
“It’s fine just…” Suddenly, Misumi stops pulling, and so Kazunari stops talking. There’s nothing, and yet there’s something weird in the air. Misumi’s hold on his hand loosens, and a noise that feels like understanding leaves his lips.   
“Flowers…” barely above a whisper, but Kazunari hears it, and his eyes burn again. He had forgotten about them, had buried them in the back of his mind but left them out in plain sight. Misumi’s face twists, and in a second he’s crying.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i took so long im sorry its so short aaaaaaaaaaaa

Kazunari wakes up with his mind fuzzy and burning in his throat, the usual now, he can stand it. Somehow, he’s gotten used to it by now, the flowers, the blood, the ripping and scratching at his throat and lungs. He coughs, throws petals away from sight and sits up. Next to his pillow is the same ruler he left before sleeping, and he picks it up with a sigh. It has been a week and maybe slightly more, and Misumi hasn’t talked to him since, hasn’t really shown up anywhere since (not that Kazunari would know too well, he has barely left his room the past two weeks or so).  He sighs again, wonders if it’d be a good idea to go out today, decides that it wouldn’t when he hears Tsuzuru’s voice from outside and chokes.

Stuck in bed, he had looked up to figure out what was happening to him, had asked around disguising it as “looking for inspiration”. He had reached an answer, at least: an illness born from one-sided love. It had been plenty painful already before, so why did it have to become something like this? He doesn’t know, but he wishes he could get rid of it, of the flowers, the pain, the blood (the feelings? No, that’s not right, he knows it’s stupid, but he cherishes them too much). The same voice rings from outside, and the longing in his heart and racing thoughts bring another wave of coughing and flowers from his lungs. He swallows down vines and blood, bites down tears, cleans his hand from yellow petals and fuzz on his bed because it’s already filthy enough he can’t care.

The door opens when he’s on his way to get his phone, and a very worried Muku steps inside. It surprises him, makes him drop his phone back on the desk and he swallows. He’s supposed to be at school, right? Why’s he still…

“Kazu-kun?” His voice is too quiet, he seems scared.

“Mukkun?” Kazunari’s voice sounds too weak, but even if he tried his best he knows he can’t do it, he can’t sound alright, he’s tired and it hurts and his throat is about to rip itself apart and- “Don’t you have school…?”

“It already ended…” Muku mumbles in reply, frame frozen at the door and so quiet Kazunari almost doesn’t hear him over the sound of his breathing. Kazunari blinks, picks his phone up again to check the time. Already late in the afternoon, he had thought it was still morning.

“Ah” he laughs painfully, apologizes, let’s out a scratching ‘welcome home’ and pretends to go work on something on his desk. Muku doesn’t move, and though Kazunari wishes Muku was airheaded enough to not notice anything weird, he knows that’s not the case.  He knows, knows he’s worrying him, knows Muku has probably been worried since everything started because Kazunari hasn’t been himself and he wishes he could be because it’s painful and-

There’s steps outside and a calling voice, and everything Kazunari swallowed down earlier comes back up in a rush. Everything scratches and burns as he coughs and tries his best to stop it, but before he realizes it everything is already red. Red on his hands, on his desk, red on his shirt and on the flowers and everywhere everywhere _everywhere._

The same voice calls again, and he swears he hears his name from it this time. He chokes again, coughs out more flowers and vines and feels his eyes burn as he cries and wonders why did this have to happen why is he here why why why why—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am still sorry :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did u think i was dead im sorry im alive im just slow im sorr

When Kazunari wakes up again he’s in a familiar but empty room. He blinks and looks around, winces in pain from his throat and chest. On the small table next to him sits a small cup of something hot (tea, maybe), warm smell unable to go past the taste of grass and self-hatred that threatens to spill out. He takes a few seconds to look around more, takes a few more to process it’s the living room that he’s currently at. Smoke rises softly over the cup, light clouds that rise and fade in front of his eyes. Kazunari finds himself smiling, how beautiful and frail, much like his own life.

 

Itches.

 

He coughs, puts a hand to his mouth, breathes.

 

He tries to remember what happened, comes up with a blur and confusion and nothing.

 

A wave of nausea washes over him, hand over his mouth falling to his neck as he sits up in a rush. Coughing along with pain that seems to never end, and then finally familiar yellow petals fall over him. Stained and crumpled up, spilling from his lips and not letting him breathe.

 

He wonders how long he has left, how long until this stops, how long until-

 

He drops his hand, lets his body fall to the side, rest on the couch. He has no energy to clean up, looks at the bloody mess with teary eyes.

 

It’s cold. 

 

It’s silent as he tries to catch his breath, is almost calm when another wave of coughing takes over, and this one seems to bring yelling almost nonsensical to his ears from the outside. Nothing makes sense, nothing else but the pain makes sense, every word flies over him and leaves, confuses him and hurts. When the coughing stops and all that’s left is heavy loud breathes he recognizes voices, Yuki and Misumi and maybe Tenma and-

 

Silence.

 

And then there’s a familiar voice, clear past the haze of pain and vines that constrict and choke.

 

“I’m sorry”

 

Shaking, worried, apologetic and torn apart.

 

Tsuzuru.

 

Kazu sobs, blood and tears rushing out and staining everything and Kazu wishes he could get him to stop, stop sounding like that, stop saying he’s sorry don’t be sorry it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, it’s my fault, it’s my fault, please

 

I’m sorry.

 

Nothing but blood and tears and flowers come out. Kazunari wishes he could turn time, go back.

 

Rushed steps and shaly breathing come into the room, approach him but don’t look. Yuki runs past him, sits down on a nearby couch, hands running through his hair and eyes more than a little red. Kazunari watches, swallows down sobbing and still spilling blood to speak up. 

 

“Yu-” Weak, but there “-kki- Yuki looks up startled, cuts of anything else Kazunari might’ve wanted to try saying. He frowns, eyes wet with tears and looking away from Kazunari. He stands up with a sigh, goes towards the small table, grabs the cup tightly in his hands and stands in front of the couch. Still frowning, he sits down at Kazunari’s back, leaves the cup back on the table in front of them with a little too much force. Kazunari winces, then laughs weakly before turning to look at Yuki. 

 

“Good...morning…” words carefully spoken, not too loud and not too sharp, leaving Yuki as if hesitantly. 

“Morning~” sing-song but weak. It hurts to even speak, but he tries, tries to smile to get Yuki to feel a little better (Nevermind the fact it’s probably Kazunari himself who needs to feel better, but he’s past the point of no return). 

 

There’s silence again, Kazunari hates it, tries to bring words out but only manages to choke again. Yuki winces next to him, quickly grabs the cup already turning cold and puts him in his hands when he stops coughing. Kazunari accepts, smiles and tilts his head to the side before drinking.

 

“You’re dying, you know that, right?” Yuki sounds scared, it hurts.

“Yeah” a pause, Yuki takes a sharp breath, Kazunari swallows down coughing, chokes on words and blood that spill on the cup still in his hands.

“Why don’t you just-” Yuki cuts off, Kazunari looks down and swirls the blood stained tea in his hands. 

 

Silence, again.

 

“I’m sorry”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to hit me up at @comethoneymoon_ or @snow_chronos or @ryuuseistage on twitter!!
> 
> one more chapter left!!!! yuki was hard to write


	5. Chapter 5

Tenma paces the room, hands flying from his hair to his face to his, back up again, pull hair and rub at tear-stained eyes. Kazunari watched from the bed, warm blankets all too heavy against his body and eyes watering from the numb pain that seems like it’s never ending.

 

Seems, but it’s going to end soon, he can feel death knocking at his door, can feel the flowers taking over everything and tugging, tugging.

 

Pulling him closer to death.

 

He coughs weakly, whole body shuddering as he tries to move, lay on his side so the flowers and blood don’t go back down his throat. Tenma turns, startled, worry written all over his face as he rushes to his side and helps him move. Kazunari smiles, a weak line framed by blood and spit, yellow petals on the bed, on his face. Tenma doesn’t smile back, lets himself fall to his knees in front of the bed, lets his head fall on the bed.

 

“Kazunari” muffled against stained bedsheets, Kazunari frowns despite himself, reaches out to push his head away as best as he can. “You-”

“Tenten” he cuts him off inhales sharply, hand shaking as he pats Tenma’s head and pushes it up weakly. Tenma follows his hand, raises his head to look at him and ignores the blood stains on his forehead and hair. “Don’t do that” his voice barely comes out, too quiet and weak and everything that’s not him and yet-

 

Tenma’s eyes water, this shouldn’t be happening.

 

Kazunari’s hand drops as he coughs again, taste he’s already used to by now invading his lungs and head stronger than ever before, bringing up more than petals with them this time. Tenma pulls away from the bed and watches (helpless, so helpless and it hurts because he can see and feel a life he’s learnt to hold so dear quickly slipping away right in front of him), holds Kazunari’s shoulders in a desperate attempt to make the coughing stop make the blood stop make-

 

Kazunari coughs, loud, coughs out flowers that shouldn’t be able to fit, vines that gets stuck in his mouth and that Tenma has to weakly pull out together with Kazunari’s blood all over his hands.

 

Pulls.

 

Kazunari knows he’s crying, knows he’s coughing out the last that’s left of him, knows-

 

He knows.

 

Tenma’s hands are shaking, a single vine that seems to never end coating everything in red held in weak fingers.

 

He hates it.

 

Kazunari bites down.

 

And it’s over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goodbye.


End file.
